


Palmreading For 8eginners

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged up characters, Biting, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Pitch Romance, Rough Sex, consensual roughness, hatefucking, palmreading jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: Equius messes with Vriska and they come to a conclusion to just deal with each other. With their bits, u feel





	

He’s ignoring you. Which, for him, is weird, and for you, is like being slapped in the face. How fucking dare that sweaty goddamn meatsack dum8ass? It’s like he doesn’t realize how great you are, even after knowing you for all twenty sweeps of both of your lives. Like he’s just totally lost whatever common sense he had to begin with and replaced it with stubbornness. It’s like he’s egging you on. Daring you to come over by ignoring your texts. Only eight, but you’re trying not to call him, because you mean, you’re not desperate. Geez, you’re not some kind of loser like him.

Or maybe you are. Your teeth clench. It’s working, him ignoring you. You’re here, standing at his door and staring into the lens of a camera you’ve known was there for more than three sweeps. His door isn’t locked; he can flick solid blocks of marble into dust and he keeps everything he cares about in the range of “terrible” to “creepy and awful”, why should he lock the door?

Even still you kick the door in and stomp down the stairs, down two levels, into his main workshop. He’s sitting at the worktable, his sunglasses set carefully to one side and his back to you. His ears twitch as you enter, but again, he doesn’t need to worry about a big brawl or anything. You’d be stupid to attack him, he could make you explode or something. You have to use wits to take him out. It has to be wits.

“Hoofbeast brain.” You snap, chucking whatever you grab first (is that a robot head? Clown gods.) at his back and watch it bounce off before he turns, his dark-ringed eyes narrowed. Maybe not wits? Wits usually work but if he’s too stupid to even know what you’re intending you might be screwed either way. “Hey. What gives?”

He plucks his glasses up and manages not to sock himself in the eye putting them on. “I have no idea what you mean.” There’s a little curl to his lips, almost but not quite a smirk.

“Don’t play coy. You know what you did.” You’re fuming. What if you’re wrong? The thought glances through your mind and you know already that you have to save face, just in case. “Obviously, I mean, why else would you just drop off at the middle of a conversation? It isn’t like you don’t have more husktops laying around if you broke yours getting too worked up over what we were talking about. Which wasn’t even sexual, you creep.”

Well. Not entirely sexual. It could have been, but you didn’t want to chance having picked up on something he wasn’t putting down so it was more innocent than you maybe wanted it to be. Maybe.

Equius glances at his desk, which is free of a husktop and covered in tiny parts. “I occupied myself with something less annoying to avoid another replacement. I haven’t backed the data on that one up yet.” The smirk is there now. “Are you just looking for a reason to fight with me, Vriska? That’s adorable.” His tone makes your skin crawl in a way you somehow like.

“I’d say that was you, actually,” Your voice goes a little too high with the last word, and a little too loud. You rein it in by the time you speak again. “Since we were talking about you slapping me in the face. And with my own arm, no less.”

A sheen of fresh sweat covers the exposed skin of his shoulders and arms. “Why would I bother? You come over all the time. If you damaged your arm and it’s malfunctioning, I can fix it.” His tongue darts over his lips, bitten and split on the left side.

“Liar.” Before you even think about it, you’re dragging him down to your level; no, you’re pulling yourself up to his with a grip on his shirt, teeth bared, eyes locked on his. “Don’t fucking mess with me.”

It’s silent for a second, long enough that you set yourself back on the floor. “I can look it over to make sure the connections are correct,” He says, sounding smug.

Grudgingly, you allow it, because you have nothing to say to that, sitting on his stool while he opens all the little panels and messes with the wires of your arm, then moves to your hand. On the off-chance it wasn’t him (which is pretty much impossible, since every other time your arm’s gone haywire the strength was more than that barely-stinging grub tap that it was just recently), you need to let him fix it. As much as it kills you, he’s the best at what he does. You’ve looked for others and none of them seem to know how to deal with the technology, so, you’re stuck.

And no one else is him, which makes them pretty boring. What’s the point if they don’t get all stuttery and embarrassed when you get in their face?

“Vriska, I’ve recently found a hobby.” He says, entirely without you asking or caring. Even when you roll your eye, he continues. “It’s palm reading. I can’t help but notice that your life-line is saying something.” Before you can remind him that it’s metal and literally anything that isn’t a scratch or nail polish was put there by him, he continues. “It says you’re a fucking bitch.”

Your eyes go wide. He cussed. He cussed you out. He cussed at you. He’s just looking at you over his glasses, calm as ever, dripping sweat on your arm. The panels are all closed, so you don’t worry when you reel your arm back and slap him across his sweaty face. His head doesn’t even move, and you snarl before leaping at him, knocking him off balance. He grunts when he hits the floor, rolling to get over and then away from you, but you’re faster than him, and it only takes a quick kick in the back of his knee to get him on the floor again, and from there climbing on him is easy.

Even though you don’t plan on smashing your mouth against his, it’s okay. You’re totally winning. He’s holding back, you can tell, and that more than anything (well, maybe not more than the actual reason you’re here) pisses you off, because you can handle him. You sink your claws into his scalp almost enough to draw blood and gasp when he manhandles you back against a crowded workbench with almost no effort, shoving his tongue in your mouth.

“Stop holding back.” You snarl, even though your lip feels a little swollen and you can’t keep from looking at his mouth again. “I can take anything you throw at me.”

He growls, actually growls, next to your ear. “You couldn’t handle one iota of what I could do. I could break you in half.” His fingers flex at your waist like he’s contemplating it and your bulge shifts in its sheathe.

“Try me.”

Equius growls again, and it sounds good to have him make that noise because of you. It feels like power that he’s giving you, saying you own that little bit of his restraint. Then, he’s kissing you, and you’re pulling your claws through his hair with a snarl, yanking his head back by catching him by surprise. He grunts and frowns, but you notice his hips grinding against yours and, ouch, that’s gonna bruise, but this is a good thing to know, just in general. What’s the point of living next to your mechanic if you don’t know what gets him off?

His hand slides down your side and lifts your leg, moves you around to slot his hips against your own, and his bulge is definitely out. You can feel it curling under his shorts and under your ass, and it’s large. Which, along with the angle really getting his sheathe grinding against your own just right, makes your bulge slide out and you muffle your moan by biting his bottom lip. He grabs your shoulders, shoving you back to the floor with enough force that it hurts, but you can tell he’s being careful.

Tangling a hand in his hair, you yank his head back, and he shudders, his head leaning towards your hand and his bulge lashing. Your nook twitches and he grunts, grabbing your pants to yank them down. You let him, lifting your hips and kicking them down to your ankles, and then he flips you, just that easy, pressing your chest to the floor and leaning over you. You’re entirely prepared for him to pail you like that, and the thought makes your nook drip down your thigh, but then his weight over you is gone. Before you can look back, he’s got your thighs in either hand and he’s dragging his tongue over your nook.

It’s pretty obvious that he’s done this before, even though you tend not to be on the receiving end of it, because it feels really fucking good. He purrs, his tongue circling your pleasurenub before sliding back to tease your nook proper. Your hips grind back against his face, a shudder rolling through your frame when he wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you against his mouth. Your bulge writhes against his chin but he doesn’t seem to mind, his tongue pressing into your nook just a little, not enough to give you anything to work with.

“Stop being a tease.” You manage, forcing down a moan when he closes his lips around your pleasurenub and shoving at his head. He doesn’t move, and you know your arms aren’t that noodly just from the feeling. He’s just freakishly strong. “Fucking pail me, you sweaty asshole.”

He snickers, his hands moving to your hips and holding you steady, not stopping for a second. If you had enough mind, you’d have him bent over his own worktable and pail him your d8mn self. But you don’t, because he’s good at this and you’re wound up and he makes this great croon when your hands slide up your body to grope at your own rumblespheres, his eyes clear blue and intense and on you and you want to bite him, but you just cross your ankles behind his head and grin at him, licking your lips like you’re saying next time it’s your ass.

Because you’re not going to lie and say that you’re not doing this again.

He sits up and you yelp as he drags you with him, having to hold yourself at an angle to keep from cracking your horns against the floor. You’d snap at him, but he does something with his tongue and you nearly scream instead, your thighs clamping around his head as you spill, material dripping lewdly to the floor around his lap and from his chin and you’d be disgusted when he stood, holding you up way too fucking easily, but even the fact that it’s cum on his face doesn’t change the weird possessive flutter in your chest at the sight of him covered in cerulean.

So, you let him carry you, and grunt when he drops you onto his desk. Something digs into your back and you sit up to shove it away, stopping when he unbuckles his belt. “I hope you don’t mind, but my knees were starting to hurt.” He breathes, low and somehow threatening and good, he doesn’t flinch when you kick him in the center of his chest. “Maybe you’ll win next time.”

You snort, watching his eyes fall to your nook. “How do you figure you won this time? You were just eating me out. I think I’m winning.” His bulge curls up past his hips and you force yourself not to lick your lips when you see how thick it is.

“I suppose you’re right about that.” He presses at your abdomen and you lay flat, frowning. The tip of his bulge slips into you without too much fanfare and he keeps his hand on it to keep from shoving into you. “But I think this will level the score.” His hips jolt forward just a bit, a few inches of his bulge spearing into you faster than before.

The grunt you make makes him grin, but he doesn’t rock forward any faster than a snail’s pace again. It’s more of a low, steady drive, centimeter by centimeter, and you have to pant through your teeth less than halfway down his bulge to keep from aching. It doesn’t hurt enough to really hurt, just a slow radiating ache from being opened up, and when you finally make a pained - no, not pained, uncomfortable, an uncomfortable noise, he freezes. You look up and he looks like he’s about to panic.

“Equius.” You snap, making him look at you. “Stop freaking out. It’s not your fault you’re freakishly large. Just, here.” You wrap a hand around your bulge, stroking it slowly. “Give me time to adjust, idiot.”

His scoff is obviously fake, but in pitch there are more things you have to ignore to be comfortable than in flush. Sometimes it’s better to have someone pretend to know what they’re doing, as long as you actually do. It’s better to keep everyone’s egos intact. That’s the whole point, after all. His hand is heavy and cool on your thigh and you let yourself focus on his slow, deeper each time, smooth thrusts, and his breath and your own hand on your bulge. It’s nice. By the time his hips press against your ass, you’re moaning softly with each movement he makes.

And then he stops, seated inside you, and pulls your legs around his waist, lifting you up to his height a few inches off the table, and you shudder because his bulge is pressing insistently at your seedflap at this angle, twisted over and putting blunt pressure on it, writhing in what little space there is. You can’t stop yourself from crooning, sitting up to grab a fistful of his hair and dragging him down to kiss you.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip and he starts moving. Slow and hard, enough to make you jolt with each thrust. It’s good, and you find yourself falling back to just feel it, your nook fluttering and clenching around his bulge while he fucks you. Equius’ hands are heavy, sliding up your sides and squeezing your rumblespheres. You drag your claws down his front, pulling up angry blue lines and making him snarl.

Which is fine, it goes straight to your nook and in turn makes him twitch when you clench on him. His bulge slides into your seedflap and you shudder, grinding up against him, but he just keeps filling your flap with bulge and it’s big and you cum with a shout, legs tensing and nook twitching as material pours off the side of his desk. He rocks forward again, pushing into you as fully as he can and starting a quick, steady pace, and if you were making noise before you’re screaming now, threatening to cull his ass if he slows down because it’s fucking good. It’s hard and he’s heavy and leaning back from you to sink as much as he can into you on each stroke, his tongue caught between his teeth and little warbling noises falling from between his lips.

You’d joke that he has to get you off five more times if he wants to make up for it, but you’re pretty sure that he’s working up to that anyway. If you die, you’ll die happy and as full of bulge as you ever wanted to be, and pretty fucking happy, all things considered.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you up just a little off his bulge so he can thrust a little more, groaning. You force yourself to sit up and grab his intact horn, doing your best to snarl at him, yanking his head to the side (he whines, hips stuttering) and sink your teeth into the side of his neck. Equius grunts, gripping your ass so hard that you feel bruises starting up where his hands are. You work up a nice, dark bruise on his neck, ringed unevenly by little pinpricks of blood, and he sobs when you lick it, hips stuttering.

Your nook flutters again and it almost hurts. You’re too sensitive for much more, even if you’d like to try, and he’s obviously getting close, if his erratic thrusts are any proof. You kiss him, biting at his mouth before just settling in to make out, trying to ignore the way you’re bouncing and the fact that needy noises won’t stop slipping out of your mouth.

Suddenly, he yanks you down against him, his bulge fully inside you and his bulge lashing more than ever, twisting in your nook and in your flap while he tucks his head to the side of your neck, panting and grinding forward, the lashing slowing.

And then, he cums, spilling icey blue into you. It overflows your flap and you squirm, shuddering, falling back a little. Equius reaches between you before you can react and jacks you off, getting about two pumps in before you’re gone, gripping at him like you’re going to faint as you just keep cumming, shaking and sensitive and his bulge wriggles more as your nook flutters, a few extra spurts of material filling you.

It takes you both a while to get past it, him leaning you back on the desk and eventually pulling out of you, followed by a gush of material as he sits heavily on his chair. “Fuck.” You can’t close your legs.

“Yeah.” He breathes, cheek on your thigh. You’re both silent until you catch your breath, and then he’s sitting up to lean over you. “Do you want to take a shower?”

You frown, but it’s for show because you’re already wrapping your arms around him. “I guessssssss… But don’t try anything.” He ‘s purring softly.

“I would never.” He huffs, shifting you to push a button on his elevator. You breathe softly against his neck, purring even though you don’t really want to. “Besides, I’m tired.”

Nodding, you only kind of appreciate his wall-art. “Me too.” He sets you onto your feet in the shower, digging around for towels. “Why don’t you have towels in the bathroom?” He grunts, glaring, and you just make a reminder to yourself to tease him about it later. “Hey. Pitch.”

“Pitch.” He laughs. “If I pail you when we wake up will I get a ‘for you’ at the end?”

You shiver as hot water starts spraying on you. “Maybe.”

**Author's Note:**

> probski ooc but hey. at least I wrote A Thing  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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